The Gift of the Magi
by basicnsync
Summary: Marty hadn't given up a watch. He had given up himself—for her, for their baby,... for all of the passengers whose names he didn't know. Why couldn't she forgive him for it? It was so wrong to be mad at him. It only made her more upset that she couldn't get over her anger. What kind of person did that make her? Sequel to "Sacrifice"
1. Chapter 1--Honeymoon's Over

Sequel to "Sacrifice". I can't leave well enough alone.

"My favorite Christmas story?" He cocked his head sideways for just a split second. "The Gift of the Magi." Deeks stated it as though it was everyone's favorite. He was flummoxed at the blank stare that met his gaze. "You know-that short story by O. Henry. Jim and Della? Ring any bells?" She shrugged and shook her head. "It's so romantic; I can't believe you don't know it—oh, wait, this is you. It's not required reading for sniper school." He took her punch to his arm in stride, having baited her into it.

Watching him squirm for a minute, she gave in. "Oh, all right, tell me about it before you have a cow!"

He grinned. "OK, this young couple has no money, except he has a watch his grandfather gave him and she has long, luxurious hair. They can't afford a Christmas present for each other, so each one sells his only possession to get the perfect gift for the other. She sells her hair to a wigmaker to buy him a chain for his pocket watch, and he sells the watch to buy her tortoise shell combs for her long hair. They each give up _something_ precious to make the _person_ most precious to them happy. That's kind of what we did, right?"

Deeks was holding her hand, enjoying the sunny afternoon in Paris as he strolled down the Champs Elysees. Holding HER hand. His wife's hand. Kensi Deeks. He couldn't help but shake his head slightly.

"What?" she asked.

"I just can't believe you are about to kiss me in broad daylight in Paris," he said, stopping and facing her.

"C'est vrai," she declared, and put her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe and pulling his face down to hers. To the casual observer, they were just another couple succumbing to the romance of the surroundings. Another couple enjoying their honeymoon after saving up for the trip of a lifetime.

The casual observer might not notice his slight limp, or the protective way she glanced at him periodically, as though she was afraid he might evaporate. The few people who did notice them during their street side make-out session either sighed or scowled, depending on their own current relationship status.

Kensi had backed into one of the trees sprouting from the sidewalk for support as the taste of her husband (HUSBAND!) always left her weak in the knees. "You are my favorite flavor!" she declared, finally pulling back to look up at him. He rewarded her with a million-watt grin and a satisfying sigh before continuing on their walk.

"For the record," she said, "I don't think giving up our expensive plans to surf in Hawaii so that we could come to Paris and house sit for Hetty's cousin for free constitutes a sacrifice. We will still go to Hawaii to surf in a few months when you're 100% again."

"Oh, so you're playing the whole 'you are physically unable to surf due to being injected with a biochemical' card, huh?" He ducked into an alcove and backed Kensi against a wall. She could feel the heat of the sun-warmed stone through the thin fabric of her dress. He placed one thigh against hers and she could feel her own heat reflected off his skin. "I'll show you 100% all right," he breathed against her neck. He leaned against her, his hands on the wall on either side of her head, pressing his hips into hers, kissing her neck until he felt the shiver he was waiting for run through her.

He was slightly annoyed when he noticed her attention was behind him, over his shoulder. She cleared her throat, slipped out from under him, and said, "Bonjour" to the children in the schoolyard across the street who were pressed against the fence, watching them.

"Ooh, la la," giggled the three young girls, who ran off kissing the air noisily.

"Oops," said Marty. He grabbed Kensi's hand and they jogged quickly down the nearest side street, away from the teacher who had come to investigate the source of the girls' entertainment. He and Kensi laughed until they were breathless. Then she spied a nearby bench and pulled him down beside her. He allowed her to pretend that she sat down to catch her breath, knowing that she really wanted to give him a chance to catch his. She was very sensitive to the fact that he had long since grown weary of being the invalid. She had almost perfected the art of taking care of him without seeming to.

He loved her so much that he didn't want her to worry about him, or worry that he knew that she worried. She loved him so much that she would always worry, always remember the time he practically talked a foreign enemy into using him as a human guinea pig, sparing the rest of the team from the physical, if not emotional trauma. Is this what people who put their lives on the line daily did for each other? They didn't know many people who weren't in this line of work, so it was hard to say.

They sat lengthwise with their feet stretched out before them, Kensi leaning back against him, resting her hand on the hollow of his scarred thigh. "It's too perfect," she breathed, loving the feel of his chin on her head and his arms around her.

"Don't jinx it!" he chided. Truthfully, he felt the same way. There was a faint feeling of foreboding nagging at his subconscious.

Maybe it was the complete absence of anything they recognized as dangerous. The past few weeks in Paris seemed like such a respite after the harrowing time provided by their latest adventure, that it made danger seem an ocean away.

Still, Kensi knew what she knew. While Marty rested before supper _("really, Kensi, I am not tired. I just know it will make you feel better if I rest," he said)_ she called Dr. Asana back in L.A. The good doctor was interested but not very helpful, and of course she suggested taking Marty to a doctor in Paris, or at the very least seeing her when they arrived back in L.A.

Later that night, when they were in bed, she had her right arm stretched across his bare chest. She thought she detected a labor to his breathing that she hadn't noticed before, or tried to ignore, like it took a lot of effort to make his chest rise. He tried to nonchalantly move her arm to his waist, but she was too sharp for that.

"What's wrong, Baby?" she asked quietly, afraid he would resent the fact that she noticed.

"Nothing at all, Sugar Bear," he said, pushing her hand even farther down.

She sat up, propped on one elbow, withdrawing her hand, not letting him distract her with sex. "Deeks, come on. You've been breathing really hard the last couple days, and your chest seems to be sensitive to pressure. Do we need to go to the doctor?" He loved the way she said "we" and he kissed her nose.

He sighed, knowing that he needed to just come clean and tell her. She always knew anyway, and hiding it seemed to make her sixth sense of Deeksawareness even sharper.

"I'm sure it's nothing," he began. "I just feel kind of full, you know, bloated and heavy. I'm sure it's just my time of the month," he joked.

She grinned in spite of herself, but she would not let him hijack the conversation with humor. "Is your stomach upset?" she asked.

"Not really—it's more just pressure—in my chestal area."

Now she did laugh. "Chestal? You take the cake, Husband," she said, pulling him in for a soft kiss.

"Kens, really, we can't make mountains out of molehills all the time. Most people have some aches and pains and I'm sure it's not a big deal." He propped up on one elbow, preparing to broach a sensitive subject. "Maybe it's time," he hesitated as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, "to get back to work. Maybe I need – we need- to stop concentrating on every breath I take, looking for something that is probably nothing."

"You mean, leave Paris?" she asked slowly. "You're ready for our honeymoon to be over?" she questioned, eyebrows raised. She had secretly been ready for a little more excitement for a while now. Be careful what you wish for.

"I think we will always live like we're on our honeymoon in some respects," he grinned, tracing the curve of her hip. "But I am ready for some normalcy. Well, as normal as two crime fighting badass gun-carrying masters of ninja moves can be!"

"Ok…me too!" she said, not trying to hide it any longer. "But, there is one condition. You have to see a doctor first before we stop focusing on your every breath, all of which, by the way, are extremely important to me," she finished in a sultry whisper, leaning in closer and nibbling his earlobe.

"Ok, I'll see a doctor, but back home. And I have a condition, too."

"What's that?"

"What's a condition? It's a detail you have to agree to in order for me to do what you want," he said with a serious expression. She rolled her eyes, sorry she had let him talk her into watching _Airplane_ for the fourth time, which was always followed by a barrage of cheesy jokes.

"This condition better not involve handcuffs," she laughed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Three days later, they made their way through airport security. If they had been on a case, or if Deeks hadn't felt achy, or if Kensi had not been watching her husband, maybe they would have noticed the way the two pilots who came through the area to board the plane first stole furtive glances at security while trying hard to seem casual. Trying too hard.

Maybe they would have heard the stewardesses griping about a trainee that was put on the flight at the last minute as they boarded.

Deeks registered a temperature of 38.7 degrees Celsius, so he was pulled aside for the officials to question him about recent trips, and his passport was checked and rechecked to make sure he had not been to West Africa, coming in contact with the Ebola virus.

He had taken two ibuprofen before leaving the townhouse, so the next time they screened his temperature it had fallen to a passable 37.4 degrees. Passable to security and passable to Kensi were in altogether different corners of the universe, and Deeks had to pretend to be asleep early into the flight to get her to stop fussing over him. He had wanted to try to punch their membership cards in the mile-high club (ok—six miles high), since the first-class accommodations Hetty had insisted on upgrading them to provided some privacy, but damn if his pretend sleep didn't turn into real sleep by the time they were at cruising altitude.

If Kensi could have been miffed at having no one to talk to for the first few hours of the flight she would have, but the dark crescents under her husband's eyes played on her sympathy, and she decided to be all mature and understanding. She wanted desperately for someone else who loved him to look at him and assess him, instead of feeling like she was trying to borrow trouble. Going back to L.A. would be good in that respect.

Was that perspiration on his brow from a fever, or was he just overdressed? Was that a sigh, or was his breathing irregular? She had been on guard since before they were married, and the effort to do it and pretend not to do it was exhausting.

Another concern eventually replaced her worry over her husband. The plane started making a descent far too soon. This couldn't be good. Four hours, and they should have been over the Atlantic Ocean. Storm? Engine trouble? She noticed a few worried glances from some of the other tight-lipped passengers. No one felt entirely safe on a trans-continental flight these days.


	2. Chapter 2--Plane Truth

She pictured a map from her photographic memory vault, and wondered if they were over Spain, or maybe Portugal? She definitely saw land rather than water beneath them, and she wanted to flag down a stewardess to ask questions. It suddenly struck her that she hadn't seen one in an hour or so. This didn't feel right.

"Deeks, wake up," she said, shaking him. She could finally touch his forehead and cheeks without fear of waking him up and irritating him. Hot.

He mumbled, "Kens, I'm fine," and readjusted his position.

"Marty!" she said sharply, causing him to turn his head and open his eyes. "Something's wrong," she hissed. The plane is descending and we've only been in the air a little over four hours."

Feeling the plane's obvious descent and trying to clear his bleary eyes enough to check his watch, he asked, "Are you sure? What does the stewardess say?"

"I haven't seen one in awhile."

He tried to smile reassuringly, knowing that Kensi was usually the last person to get spooked at 30,000 feet. He meant to say something witty to lighten the mood, but he couldn't think straight with the pounding in his head. He reached for his wife's hand, cool and smooth and comforting in his. "I think I have the flu," he said almost apologetically, unable to suppress a shiver as he became aware that perspiration had dampened his clothes. He wanted some absolution from not being all husbandly and reassuring.

Just then the plane made a pronounced drop, causing a grim silence. Kensi felt as though a sign flashing "DANGER" had been plugged into her forehead. The queasiness she was feeling now was so much worse than the queasiness she had felt the past couple of mornings. She hoped she hadn't caught the flu from Deeks.

Having a presence of mind that eluded Deeks for now, Kensi cautiously reached into her carry-on and retrieved three items. She pretended to be scratching her ear as she inserted her comms. Then she brushed Marty's hair back and shoved his into his ear, tapping each of them on.

The third item looked like a small container of hand sanitizer, but was actually overwatch spray. She snapped off the false top, sprayed some on her hand, and rubbed it behind Marty's ear and onto his scalp. She did the same for herself. He nodded his thanks, and wished he could be more alert. Kensi knew the comms were out of range for communicating with their team, but she hoped that the built-in gps tracker, along with the overwatch, would at least alert the techs to their location and the need for interaction.

The plane continued its descent, at long last approaching a dimly lit airstrip in an area with few other lights visible. Now the hushed tones of the passengers gave way to loud questions, with no stewardess in sight to answer them.

Once the bumpy landing was complete, some of the passengers started getting up and cautiously approached the cockpit door. Suddenly it opened, and both pilots emerged carrying weapons. The passengers cowered back, scrambling over each other in retreat.

One pilot picked up the stewardess's microphone, and announced in halting English, "The passengers will not be harmed if they stay quiet and do not interfere. We are looking for one man." The second pilot then came around him mumbling "Row 4, seat B" under his breath. He stopped at the seat, creasing his brow at the blond who was shivering there.

The young woman and her friend, who had asked to change seats with Kensi and Deeks so they could sit behind their traveling buddies, did not even have the presence of mind to remember the switch. The two just cowered, holding on to each other. Deeks, however, tapped out two letters in Morse code on the palm of Kensi's hand from their vantage point 3 rows back: ME.

Kensi tapped back: NO – PR… just as the man backhanded the girl, then grabbed her arm and pulled her to stand in front of him. She screamed, as did her friends. "I am going to count to three, and then I shoot her first. One of her friends will die each minute I am kept waiting."

Kensi tried to tell him. She tried to hold him down with one hand and the force of her will. But he couldn't let someone else die for him.

"Stop! It's me you want!" he called out, standing up and stepping over Kensi, trying to give her a reassuring glance. She grabbed his hand and tried to place it on her stomach, believing that in the fraction of a second it took him to reach the aisle, he would know.

But the close-shaven man, whose accent Kensi believed to be Eastern European, chose that arm of Marty's to grab, yelling, "Hands on your head!"

Deeks complied, saying in a soothing voice, "Hey man, you've got the gun. I'm unarmed. Just stop scaring everyone." As Deeks was shoved in front of the man, he caught Kensi's eye and they communicated their plan silently. She sprang up suddenly behind the gunman, kicking him in the back. He was thrown off balance, lunging forward only to meet Marty's foot as it kicked him under the chin. He went down hard with passengers screaming.

The second pilot was striding down the aisle with his gun, which no one doubted he would use, when a passenger rushed at him from behind. He turned toward the perceived threat, aiming his gun, giving Deeks a split second to kick the guy behind his right knee, causing the knee to buckle and the man to go down. There was a deafening shot as the man hit the floor, and for a second no one breathed. Deeks stood over the man, and dropped with his elbow onto his shooting arm, hearing a definite crunch as he did so.

They thought the stewardess who appeared, running down the aisle to the first-class section, was coming to aid Kensi right up until the second she grabbed her from behind in a choke hold. Kensi elbowed the stewardess in the stomach once, twice, three times and then flipped the woman over her back. The stewardess scrambled to her feet quickly and charged Kensi from the front, but Kensi ducked low and flipped the woman over her back once more before landing with her knee in the woman's spine, yelling "Stay down!"

The passengers gasped and cowered, then started to applaud. Kensi asked one man to get the zip ties out of the bag under her seat, and with help, she and Deeks had all three aggressors subdued, with both hands and ankles bound.

It was then that Deeks heard a tearful voice pleading, "Get up, Mommy, please!" He felt his stomach clench as he could immediately recall the woman and her son of around seven or eight sitting across from their original seats. He froze as he looked up the aisle towards them and saw a small hole in the back of the seat where the pilot's gun must have been pointed as Deeks had knocked him to the floor.

He was at the woman's side in two strides. Her head was slumped over her knees, and there was a small blood flow coming from the left side of her lower back. He spoke to the boy. "Hey, can I help your mom?" The boy nodded, his tear-streaked face causing Marty's heart to lurch in his chest.

With the help of another passenger, Deeks pressed the lever on the woman's seat and laid it all the way back. Then he gently lifted her head up while the other passenger supported her back, and they managed to lay her down on her side. Deeks noticed her skin was already clammy and pale. Her eyes flew open and she winced in pain at the change in position. She reach out for her son, calling out "Jason, I'm fine, honey," in as calm a voice as she could manage.

A passenger offered to go in search of a doctor, while yet another looked for the first aid kit at the stewardess station just behind the cockpit.

When the doctor arrived, Deeks took the opportunity to head to the cockpit to check out the radio equipment, and see if he could raise some help. Kensi stood guard over the three hijackers.

The one who had fired the shot that hit the passenger said, "It is unfortunate that someone had to get hurt. We are only interested in one person—Martin Deeks. This could have been avoided."

"What do you want with him?" Kensi asked, her eyes narrow. It mystified her that after several months on hiatus so Deeks could heal, that anyone would be after them. They hadn't even used aliases to travel since they had been out of the field for so long.

Ignoring her question the man asked, "Do you know how long he has?"

Kensi didn't answer, knowing he was trying to get in her head.

"He has a fever, no? And trouble breathing?" She didn't turn toward him, but he could sense her concentration on his words. "Ah, yes, right now, adrenaline is carrying him, but soon…"

Seeing no reaction from Kensi, he tried another approach—talking loudly enough for the other passengers to hear. "The United States—who suspects them of carrying out biological warfare, huh?"

"Shut the hell up!" Kensi sneered.

"She doesn't want you to know that her husband was injected with biochemical and many, many viruses. Dangerous viruses. He's sick now, no? Feverish, contagious…"

Kensi frantically searched in her go bag and finally produced the item she sought—a roll of duct tape.

"Hey," a male passenger said, "he's right. That guy looked sick to me." What's wrong with him?" he asked Kensi, accusingly. She ignored his question, placing a strip of the tape over the gunman's mouth. She didn't notice that the other one, whose head Deeks had kicked, had come around. He picked up where his silenced comrade left off, speaking slowly as he regained his wits, but spurred on by the furtive glance of his compatriot.

"California flu. No cure. Spreads like wildfire. Spread from the U.S. military research facility to hundreds of Ukrainian troops. They are dropping like flies! Now it has spread to civilians. He is in the first stages of it. He needs to get off of this plane before he makes everyone sick. You know how germs spread on a plane," he said, looking straight at a couple with a young child.

Kensi looked around at the increasingly anxious crowd. "Don't listen to them. He's fine. These people are the aggressors. They are trying to turn you against us—to confuse you." She tore off a strip of tape for the second gunman, aware that it made her look like she was afraid of what he could say to the passengers, which was exactly what she was afraid of.

But, there was something more. She was afraid herself.

As she turned toward him to tape his mouth, he spoke quickly. "We want to see if we can cure him. We do not want him to die. Our medical facility is close by. We know the United States used his blood to make an antiviral serum. We want to try it out on him to see if we are being duped. We want to compare it to the antibodies we feel he has produced as the virus was slowly leaked into his body. The encapsulation was not permanent. How do we know this? Dr. Thompson sends his regards."

Kensi froze at the name. Dr. Thompson had been working with the CIA to produce a biochemical and then sold it on the black market before the testing was finished or an antidote was created. The team was sure it had been the Chinese that had procured at least one vial and injected an American agent in order to hasten the process of creating the antidote. They chose Deeks— _chose him_ —because they thought the team would work harder to save one of its own. But one vial remained unaccounted for.

A single antidote had not been possible since there were several viruses in the mixture, able to be released at the command of a computer chip linked to magnetic material in the serum. Deeks had undergone an exchange transfusion to remove his tainted blood and replace it. Besides, Thompson was in CIA custody somewhere.

"You're lying," Kensi announced as she put the tape over his mouth as well. She knew that all of Marty's blood had been replaced. He had even gone through a round of dialysis after having a bad reaction to the transfusion. He was declared virus-free. For good measure, she decided to tape the female's mouth, too, not wanting to hear any more talk of her husband's health.

But when the cockpit door opened, Kensi was dismayed at Marty's appearance. His face was flushed, with very definite red splotches on his cheeks. His hair was matted down with perspiration, and his eyes were red.

A/N Unfortunately, the accidental release of the virus is true, if you can believe what you read. The name of the virus appears in the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3--Let's Make a Deal

_**Warning! Severe angst ahead!**_

"See!" declared the man who'd noticed Marty was ailing. "He _is_ sick! We've probably all been exposed!" Some of the passengers jumped up to leave the first class area and head for any open seat they could find farther back on the plane.

The couple with the young child looked sympathetic, although terrified. The man asked, "What about getting some fresh air on here? How long are we going to be cooped up? Can the plane be flown out?"

Deeks was too far to hear the comments about his health, and he tried to smile reassuringly at the passengers, wondering why their demeanor had changed so drastically from the celebratory mode they were in when he and Kensi had first subdued the assailants. "We are working on a solution. The authorities have been notified. They are discussing whether to send new pilots and fly the whole plane out of here, or remove the passengers to other airports by helicopter. It will take a little while for decisions to be made."

He looked at the doctor, who had bandaged the woman's gunshot wound. He rose to talk to Deeks quietly. "I've stopped the bleeding for now, but the bullet's still in there. I can't tell if it lacerated her kidney, or if it went through to her intestines. She has feeling in all of her extremities, so I'm sure it didn't hit her spine. It needs to be removed as soon as possible, though. She is in a lot of pain."

"I alerted them to the medical emergency, but they want to secure the three suspects before allowing access to the medics. We'll try and speed things up as much as possible." He leaned over and spoke to the woman and her son. "We have help on the way. I am so sorry this happened to you." The little boy tried to smile bravely, while his mother whispered her thanks.

"Dr. Graham has been wonderful, and I feel better already." This brought a bigger smile from Jason, who held his mother's hand.

Deeks knelt and talked to the victim and her son for a few more minutes before walking down the aisle towards Kensi. He looked questioningly at the pilots and stewardess with duct tape on their mouths and back at Kensi. "These three get mouthy? I was thinking we needed them to talk."

"They were trying to scare the passengers," she explained in a low voice.

"Yeah, they said you were injected with something that's making you sick and you could infect all of us!" called out one man who had moved to the crowded aisle to put some space between himself and Marty.

Deeks looked surprised and turned towards Kensi, who was furious. He stammered, "What? From the….?" His hand instinctively touched his thigh. "But that's impossible, right?" He leaned toward the nearest seat as a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him. Some of the passengers cowered away from him.

Kensi reached for him, but he forced himself to stand upright. "Hey, why don't you check the galley and the lavatory? The stewardesses must be there. Maybe it's best if I don't walk through the passengers." He looked so tired. She wanted to talk to him, to take care of him. She wanted nothing less than to act like an agent right now, putting the safety of strangers ahead of their own. She wanted to act like any other, normal concerned spouse. But, they often had to put what they wanted last, so she convinced herself that there would be time for that later.

As she walked to the back of the plane, Deeks bent down to their captives. "I want some answers, and I want you to keep your voice down. Tell me your mission. What does it have to do with me?" One man seemed to nod towards the other as if to say he was the one to ask. Deeks pulled the duct tape down so that it was still attached under his bottom lip, but he could speak freely.

"The U.S. operates a research facility in Shelkostantsiay, about 30 km from Donbass. From there was released a virus that is killing our military within days of the onset, and it is spreading to the general population."

"What does that have to do with me?" asked Deeks.

"You are legend among the researchers. One of them worked on including the viruses in the chemical you were injected with."

"But I thought all of those guys disappeared or are in custody," Deeks said, creasing his brow.

The man chuckled wryly. "These doctors were too important for your government to turn their backs on. They made a good show of threatening them, but all except one ended up here at the research facility. A small faction of our intelligence force decided to stop making our people the test tubes of the American military. We were able to detain Dr. Thompson to make him create an antidote for this virus. He suspected that you may still have some traces of it in your system, slowing leaching out, allowing you to create antibodies. He also suspected there were enough magnetic particles left to respond to the computer chip, so when we realized you had bought a ticket to leave Paris, we knew it was time to try and release more of the virus while we had access to you. Your temperature at the airport confirmed that he was right."

"No, no—not possible! I had a complete exchange transfusion. It removed all of the chemicals and magnetic particles and viruses. Months ago! You're lying!" The stress of the confrontation brought on another bought of dizziness, this time accompanied by a fit of coughing. As Deeks struggled to inhale between coughs he was didn't even see the blood droplets splattered in the crook of his arm as he covered his mouth. When he regained control, the bound man continued.

"Coughing up blood. Stage 2." Deeks looked at his arm and his eyes widened in shock. "It is thought that some of the particles may have resided in organ tissue—specifically the spleen. Dr. Thompson feels he has successfully created an antidote by isolating the virus in the blood that was drained from you during the exchange transfusion. He assures us of his success but we are unwilling to let him experiment on any more of our citizens.

"We are your only hope. You may have enough antibodies to fight off the virus, but then again… You will be dead in 72 hours otherwise." Having heard enough, Deeks replaced the tape over the man's mouth, and slumped into the nearest seat.

His mind was reeling, his head pounding, eyeballs burning, chest hurting—he could hear himself wheezing as his breath became more labored. He really just wanted to sleep, when suddenly his comms crackled and he heard a familiar voice. "Kensi? Deeks? Do you copy?"

"Here, Eric!" came Kensi's reply.

"Yeah, me too," panted Deeks.

"We saw your overwatch and gps signals, not to mention the conventional flight tracker that's had the families and the airline on high alert. Nell and I started setting up a relay to contact you. There's a slight delay, but it's the best we could do. We've been able to hear you for a while already. How is everyone?"

"Well, I think the honeymoon is officially over, but I'm glad you weren't listening in on that!" Deeks quipped, trying to be light-hearted as usual.

"Deeks—how are you really?" asked Eric in a serious tone. Just then, Kensi came walking up the aisle and spotted the blood staining his shirt in the crook of his arm that dangled into the aisle.

Deeks started to answer, "I'm good—," but Kensi cut him off.

"He's coughing up blood," she said in a stricken tone. She knelt in the aisle beside the seat, and reached for his face with both hands. "He's burning up, and he's wheezing."

Marty caught her hands at the wrists and pushed them away. "No, Kensi. You can't be near me. What if I make you sick? You've already been exposed…I don't know how long I've been contagious…I can't make you or anyone else sick!"

"It doesn't matter to me," she said, trying to shake out of his grip and surprised at how determined he was. "Your immune system has been compromised for a few months now, but I'm healthy. Let's get home and get you healthy," she pleaded.

"Kensi," he said, releasing her wrists and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Babe, I know. I know you're pregnant, and you've just been waiting for the right time to tell me. That means your health is paramount to me." He inhaled shakily, wanting to gather her into his arms and show her how happy he was. Wanting to jump up and down and sing. All he could manage was a sweet smile and brimming eyes. Kensi couldn't speak at all. She laid her head in his lap and felt all of the dreams that had filled her heart over the past week slowly siphon onto the floor of that plane.

"Nell," he said, rubbing Kensi's back and stroking her hair, "is someone on their way to rescue us?"

"Yes," she answered. "They are coming from a naval base in Greece, but it will be a few hours. Sam, Callen, and Granger left for the base when we were tracking your plane, so they should arrive with them. In the meantime, we have you under satellite surveillance." She stopped and sighed. "It's not good news. Look out the windows to your left."

He and Kensi both stood, and drew in their breaths as the military style vehicles—including 3 grenade launchers pointed at the plane—became visible. A medical helicopter joined the vehicles. Passengers caught on and followed their gaze, some of whom started crying and yelling.

"Do something!" insisted the mother of the young child. "Please, please don't let anything happen to my daughter!"

"Let's open the door and drop him out, if that's what they're after!" yelled a man several rows back. "There's no need in all of us dying for him! Someone's already been shot—isn't that enough? Look, guy, I'm sorry, but you're sick anyway." Spurred on by his speech, a dozen or so more passengers stood up, looking for the world like a vigilante group. Kensi felt fear emanating from them, and knew how much power such fear gave to normally calm, complacent people. She grabbed one of the guns and turned towards them, eliciting screams from those closest to her.

"Back off!" She yelled. "We are federal agents, and there is help on the way. We cannot—we will not-give in to their demands." She sounded authoritative, but she was no fool. She knew the two of them, Deeks weakening with each passing minute, could not hold off the entire body of passengers.

The prisoner that Deeks had spoken to earlier had been using his tongue to work at the tape covering his mouth, and was able to dislodge it enough to speak. He decided to use the passengers' fear to his advantage, so he spoke loudly.

"We want no harm to come to the citizens on this plane, or to this man. We just want our people to have a cure for the havoc that the United States has brought to us!" To Kensi he said, "Lady, no one else has time to cure your husband! Verify this with your own people! He may have some natural antibodies, but they were not enough to keep him from getting sick. We have Dr. Thompson, and he has the only potential antidote. We will release him once we see the antidote works, and if we need any more of his blood to make a vaccine.

"You have 15 minutes, or there will be a grenade launched at this plane, and another one 5 minutes after that. Our men will breach the plane, and then they will kill anyone who stands in our way." He looked at Kensi—"Even pregnant women. This will all be on you," he finished, staring at Deeks.

The passengers collectively gave an exclamation of horror.

Kensi pointed her weapon at him with a shaky hand. How dare he insinuate that his countrymen were more important than her husband—the father of her child. _They_ had released the virus in him. She had no idea how that was even possible, unless Dr. Stevens had lied. Dr. Stevens, whom Deeks had insisted on helping into NCIS's witness protection program.

"Kens, that won't help," said Deeks softly, putting his hand on top of the gun. "You know what I have to do."

"No! I won't let you! We'll think of another way!" She hated feeling weak and emotional. She hated this situation. She hated everything and everyone right about now. The feeling of being trapped was sapping her strength, her ability to think clearly, and her patience. "Eric! Nell! Do something!"

"Kensi," came Hetty's voice over the comms. Kensi hated the tone of resignation she detected in her voice.

"No!" shouted Kensi. " _Do not_ tell me there's no other way! _Do not_ tell me I have to sacrifice him for world peace or any bullshit like that! It's our turn! We get to be happy! We get to be safe! We get to look out for ourselves for once! We get to raise our baby with two parents!" Tears were streaming down her cheeks and her breath came in gulps. Several of the passengers were crying, too, even though they could only hear Kensi's side of the conversation.

"I will only relay the facts, Kensi. In 12 minutes a grenade will be launched at a plane full of civilians, several of whom are children, one of whom has been shot. It will take another 2 to 3 hours for any help to reach you, and even if the threat of action is not carried out, there will likely be a firefight when help arrives. The strain of virus the men with you are talking about is called the California Flu, and does indeed take its victims within days of the onset. I'm afraid the naval base is ill equipped to handle even one case, much less several cases, if others become ill with it. Marty may not survive the trip home without the antidote, experimental as it may be.

"I would never ask anyone to sacrifice himself," she continued. "I will leave all such decisions to the two of you, and we will support you unconditionally." Hetty tried to keep her voice even and strong throughout her message, but she could not hide the swell of emotion causing her vocal cords to tighten.

As Kensi stood there unable to move, Marty motioned two of the released stewardesses forward, and asked them to deploy the inflatable emergency slide so he could depart the plane. He led Kensi to a seat, and reached behind her back to retrieve the knife she had in the undetectable sheath. He knelt by the three bound captives and cut the zip ties holding their feet.

"What is this? You are not leaving us here for a later exchange?" asked one.

"Nope. My wife will probably kill you," Deeks said grimly. "I don't want her to have to deal with that. If she doesn't kill you, then you may be a threat to her and the passengers, and that's unacceptable. Besides, if I don't make it, you lose your leverage and become prisoners, causing a threat to out national security. I'm not willing to let that happen, either." The three looked at each other, puzzled. "Someone has to be the first to do the right thing. I just think it's time."

"Okay, the slide is in place," said one of the stewardesses.

Deeks knelt in front of Kensi, who stared ahead blankly. "Princess, I am trying to keep my promise to you, and unfortunately, this seems to be my best shot. If I go with them, I may have a future as a father, and as the luckiest husband on Earth." He paused to blink and steady his voice, not wanting the last words he may speak to his wife to sound pitiful and whiny.

"If I stay, I have no shot, and I may be robbing scores of innocent people of their future, starting with that woman and her son. I can't be that selfish, Fern." He wiped a tear from her cheek, and the heat from his hand caused her to finally meet his gaze.

"Come home to us," she whispered, and lowered his hand to her belly. Deeks closed his eyes, drew in a shaky breath, and rose unsteadily to his feet.

He nodded to the three Ukrainians and said, "Let's do this." As the four of them walked towards the forward door, a passenger stood up and called out "Thank you." This was followed by another, then another. Turning to give a humble nod to them, Deeks saw the woman with the young daughter. "I hope my little one is as pretty as she is," he said with a catch in his voice. "Hetty, take care of them," he whispered.

"Only until you are able," came her tremulous reply.


	4. Chapter 4--What you weren't expecting

_**Dear French reviewer: You have given me a lot to consider! I had not thought everything through as well as I imagined. We may have to suspend common sense for a while in order to further the plot. Your concerns are addressed in Chapter 6. Thanks for making me think!**_

Deeks stood back and let the three hijackers go down the slide ahead of him, cutting the ties from their wrists at the last second as he was aware that he would need help upon reaching the bottom of the dizzying height. Afraid that if he looked back he may change his mind, he jumped with his feet in front of him as instructed. Indeed, when he got to the bottom he would have bounced head first onto the pavement if the two men hadn't caught him.

It became obvious that he had been pushing himself to act as normally as possible for Kensi's sake, because he barely had the strength to stand. The men motioned for a gurney to be brought to them, but Deeks bristled at that. "Not in front of my wife," he said. Instead, the men waved a truck over and pulled Deeks up on the tailgate between them until they got to the helicopter. They pulled him inside, and then guided him to the waiting gurney.

Inside the airplane, the open door provided some much needed air, and the stewardesses began serving drinks as though it were a normal flight. Kensi just sat with her arms folded across her stomach. She knew that eventually she would get up, but not yet. Not now. For now, she couldn't move. She removed her comms and was relieved that Nell's constant barrage of questions and reassurances had stopped. Someone offered her a cool bottle of water, and she drank it down in gulps, not realizing how thirsty she had been.

Kensi's breath halted as she saw the helicopter lift off. One by one the other vehicles trekked into the high brush and passed the tree line to the east of the runway, and Kensi knew he had done it. He had saved them all. What if these people were all dead, but she and Marty and the baby lived happily ever? That would be fair, wouldn't it? As passengers milled around, worrying about cell phone signals and contacting loved ones, she thought, _are their lives more important than his? Do they even realize what he did?_

These people lived in a bubble, remaining unaware of the work related to keeping them safe. They took it for granted, maybe not selfishly, but by being blissfully ignorant. They squandered the sacrifices made by people like her father, Dom, Hunter, and Marty, and did stupid things like smoking, using drugs, joining gangs, speeding, bungee jumping—putting their lives in jeopardy when others had worked so hard to protect them without them even knowing it.

Kensi would have loved it if someone had stood up for Marty and decided to protect him from the threat at their own cost. But Marty couldn't accept that. She had seen the guilt he felt over the shooting victim, and she knew he would never forgive himself for it. If the lady died and he lived, their perfect lives would have a blemish she could never talk him into overlooking. And the virus. Oh, good Lord, how was this not over yet?

She pushed her comms back into her ear and tapped it. "Nell, Eric, Hetty—who can hear me?"

"We're all here, Kensi," answered Eric.

"Can you get hold of Dr. Stevens? I need to know how Marty still had a virus in his bloodstream. What about the transfusion?"

"We can't do that, Kensi," Hetty stated. "NCIS put her into its witness protection program, hiding her from the CIA and foreign enemies. We would risk disbanding our team and office if her whereabouts were traced to us. However…"

"If my husband dies, this team is disbanded anyway," Kensi interrupted coldly, pulling the comms out of her ear.

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During the short helicopter ride to the medical facility, Deeks hovered between consciousness and a feverish dream, making it hard for him to separate reality from hallucination. It didn't matter, since he was hallucinating about being on a helicopter with a high fever anyway.

The oxygen mask did ease his struggle to get enough air, but one particularly deep breath brought on a coughing fit that splattered the inside of the mask with blood droplets. Marty decided he much preferred watching horror films to being in one, and tried to imagine he was laying on the beach in the hot sun until the helicopter landed.

He was rushed out of the chopper and into the facility where dozens of personnel were waiting for him. The masks on their faces made him feel like he must be a very scary dude right about now. He had a flashback to the refrigerated container he had been held in when he was first injected with the biochemical. He was just too weak for his anxiety to build up to full-blown panic.

It amused him somewhat to realize no one had worn a mask until they arrived here. They must not care if the enlisted guys get sick, just save the officers.

If he had been more alert, he would have objected to the barrage of needle sticks as he had blood drawn, IV's inserted, and the antidote administered. He heard mainly Ukrainian, but there were a couple of people speaking English. In his haze, he picked up "temperature continues to rise," "lungs are filling with blood," and "this was a failure." He had no idea if this was over the course of a few minutes, hours, or days, but he was sure that he was still alive, and he wanted to make sure they knew it, too, before someone covered him with a sheet and left him there.

He tried to inhale deeply enough to yell at them, but it just brought on another round of blood-spewing coughs. His chest was on fire and his head felt as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. He longed for Kensi's cool hand in his, and imagined her with a large pregnant belly, looking radiant and gorgeous. He tried to picture their baby, but the face remained a little fuzzy. The anticipation of seeing that face clearly made him deliriously happy, and knowing he was delirious, the irony made him smile beneath the mask.

Seeing his smile, one of the attendants scoffed, "Він не має уявлення, що він вмирає." _"He has no idea that he's dying."_

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Kensi managed to come out of her stupor when the doctor came to check her blood pressure and pulse. "How are you holding up, young lady?" he asked. "I couldn't help but overhear that you are expecting."

"I am expecting to wake up from this nightmare at any second," she whispered, unable to stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks. "I am expecting Marty to come walking from that direction," she said, pointing, "telling me that he was cured." She sniffled. "What I was not expecting was to lose him and raise this baby on my own."

"He seems like an unbelievably caring man with great character," the doctor said kindly.

Kensi exhaled, "That he is. How is the gunshot victim?" she asked, trying to sound as if she cared.

"She is in a lot of pain. Do you know how much longer it will be until help arrives?"

Kensi replaced the comms she had jerked out when Hetty refused to contact Dr. Stevens. She pressed the button, and spoke. "Nell? Eric? What's the status on some help here? The gunshot victim needs attention STAT."

Nell spoke quietly, "The medical chopper is about ninety minutes out, Kensi."

"Ninety minutes," she informed the doctor.

"That's good," he said. "I'll go back and check on her. She'd like to speak to you when you get a chance," he told Kensi. "Her name is Erin." Kensi nodded to him, although she couldn't imagine getting up. She was sapped of all energy and emotion, other than bone-crushing sadness. "Tell me something good, guys," she said quietly.

Hetty spoke quickly, trying to finish before Kensi could remove her comms again. "Kensi, _we_ may not be able to contact Dr. Stevens to pull her out of hiding, but _she_ contacted us! That's what I was trying to tell you when you broke off communications abruptly. She and Dr. Asana became good friends when they worked together to save Marty last time, and they have remained in touch, unbeknownst to me. After you called Dr. Asana with your latest concerns, she consulted with Dr. Stevens, and now both of them are joining Sam and Callen at the naval base and on to your location."

"So Dr. Stevens is coming here even though the CIA is still tracking her? That's dangerous for her, isn't it?" She didn't wait for a response before asking with renewed energy, "What's the plan?"

"The plan is this: After giving the Ukrainians time to administer the antidote to Deeks, the rest of our team plus the two doctors will go in and retrieve him."

"What do you mean, the rest of our team?" asked Kensi suspiciously.

"I mean all who are present and NOT pregnant, Kens: Sam, Callen, and Granger. The navy will help escort the passengers to nearby airports, but the mission itself must remain dark because of the delicate relationship between the Ukraine and the U.S."

"Hetty, I'm going! This is not negotiable!"

"No, it's not, Kensi, and I want to make something clear. Your husband will have the antidote administered to him, but as far as we know, there is only one small experimental batch made, which can be duplicated if it is successful, along with using more of Marty's blood for the serum. If you become infected, there is no guarantee that a new antidote can be ready in time to save you.

"He may live and _you_ may die—or heaven forbid, you both may die! Think about that! If the virus didn't kill you, even a prolonged exposure to it could harm the baby, cause birth defects…I don't want to frighten you, but you are only thinking of Marty. You have the well-being of another person to consider now."

Kensi felt the rushing tide of several emotions crashing over her at once. Despair, grief, frustration, hopelessness, anger, futility—it was enough to make her want to do something crazy. She turned off her comms but didn't pull them out. She couldn't let them hear her sob, and sob she did for a good ten minutes. A stewardess finally knelt in the aisle beside her and handed her a box of tissues. She put the tray table down in front of Kensi, and laid a package of almonds and a cup of cranberry juice there.

"You have been through so much, honey. You have to keep up your strength," she said kindly. Kensi saw ligature marks around the woman's wrists as she placed the items out for her. This woman had fought to get out of her restraints. Kensi admired her spunk, and managed a watery smile.

"Thank you," she stammered. "I don't mean to be self-absorbed. It has been a rough day for everyone, I know." At that moment, helicopters could be heard, and a cheer went up from the passengers.


	5. Chapter 5--A Pride-sized Void

_**Cheryl—you're a dear! Thanks so much for reading.**_

 _ **Mon ami français: No, you weren't too critical! I appreciate you reading carefully enough to ask questions. Besides, you were right!**_

Kensi expected panic and mayhem. She expected everyone to run to the forward door in a stampede, climbing over each other to get to the emergency slide. She expected them to rebel at the thought of being quarantined in the medical tents on this runway for the next 36 hours before everyone was cleared, and for them to grow restless and angry as they waited for the large quarantine tent-style pavilion to be erected. What she didn't expect was the patience and consideration all of the passengers showed. No one got up. They let the stewardesses and the Navy take control.

She felt some of her bitterness melt away.

The first rescue personnel to get to the plane had to use rappelling equipment to reach the door, then secure a system of ropes and pulleys to handle a basket-type gurney for Erin. She and Jason would be the only ones leaving the runway, being flown to the base hospital under heavy precautions against infectious diseases. Kensi had bolted out of her seat when she heard the approaching choppers, and went to Erin's side.

"Hey, Erin, I'm Kensi—Marty's wife. I'm sorry I haven't come to talk to you before now," she said quietly. Her red-rimmed eyes met Erin's large blue ones, and Erin smiled kindly. "I am so sorry this happened to you, and that you've had to wait so long for help." Kensi's eyes now traveled to Jason, who had fallen asleep. His head was laying over his left arm, which was still extended across the seat to hold his mother's hand.

Erin smiled and said, "Kensi, I have been praying really hard, and I know I am going to be fine. If this had to happen—and I don't believe anything happens by chance—then I believe Dr. Graham was put here to save me. This whole experience just reminds me to stop and appreciate what is precious," she said, nodding toward her sleeping son.

More bitterness evaporated.

Kensi remarked, "I know my husband would rather have taken a bullet himself than to have anyone else hurt."

"Yes, he even said that, and I believed him. I have been praying for him, too, and I—well, I just wanted you to know that. I may have been a little loopy, but I realize what he did, releasing those people so they wouldn't be a threat to us, and then going with them. I will never forget his sacrifice."

Just then, the medics boarded the plane. Kensi watched them ready the mother and son, trying not to scare Jason in their HAZMAT suits. She was touched by Erin's comments, and the memories conjured up by the word "sacrifice". Kensi's mind drifted back to just a few days ago, when Marty was describing his favorite Christmas story. It seemed like a lifetime ago; and a really long, tough lifetime at that. What had he said? _They each give up something precious to make the person most precious to them happy._

That didn't even come close. Marty hadn't given up a watch. He had given up himself—for her, for their baby, for Erin and Jason, for all of the passengers whose names he didn't know. Why couldn't she forgive him for it? It was so wrong to be mad at him. It only made her more upset that she couldn't get over her anger. What kind of person did that make her?

She knew in her head that if he had stayed and the hijackers were right about the virus, she would be watching him die. They would not be sitting together flirting or planning their nursery colors or discussing baby names. She would have been fretting over his feverish body, exposing herself and the baby. Her head could grasp that it was best for him to go. But, oh her heart. Her heart ached with the irrational sting of abandonment. He left.

As the passengers filed past in an orderly fashion to go to the slide, most of them smiled at her, nodded to her, or thanked her. She recognized the man who had suggested dropping Marty out of the door as he came towards her down the aisle. The closer he came, the farther his head drooped in shame. A young man walking in front of him stopped when he was even with Kensi's seat. "Dad," he said without turning around, his tone admonishing and insistent.

With his head still down, the man said, "I'm sorry. I was just scared for my son…scared for…me," he said falteringly. "You both saved our lives. Thank you," he said. "Thank him for us," he said, walking towards the door without looking back at her.

"I intend to," she said quietly, trying to channel a little of the optimism Erin had shown. The remaining bitterness seeped from her, leaving a void. But what would replace it?

Pride. She allowed herself to feel proud of her husband for being an example of unselfishness. Most parents try to teach their children that lesson, but it is against human nature. It wasn't against Marty's nature, though.

She remembered what she told him when they held a newborn baby whose father risked his life to protect others against a radiation leak. When Marty remarked that the baby might grow up without a father, Kensi herself responded, "Yeah, but his dad is a hero." She felt then that if a child knew about his father's heroism, the pain of not having him around could be eased with pride. Would that apply to their child?

When all of the passengers had gone, the stewardess who had brought Kensi cranberry juice and almonds motioned her forward. Kensi went to retrieve the go bags she and Marty had carried on, and panicked when she couldn't find them. Weren't these the right seats? She wanted to touch his bag, smell his scent that she knew would be lingering there. She wanted to open the bag and see his socks—anything mundane, trivial…normal.

"Are you looking for these?" asked the stewardess, holding up the bags. "I got them for you." Kensi had to resist jerking them out of her hand. She didn't want anyone touching his things, messing up the smell, causing one electron to be lost to friction when there were a finite number of them left.

She managed to rein in her panic and utter a curt thanks, purely out of decorum. She could tell the stewardesses all wanted to speak to her again, to thank her for cutting them free, to mention her husband's actions, to wish him well… Kensi could not endure it again, putting on the face of the—what was she, a widow in waiting?—and feigning appreciation for their remarks. She knew it was rude, but it was impossible for her just now.

She jumped out before anyone could say a thing to her. She jumped out before making sure there was someone at the bottom ready to catch her. She jumped out… and it was the best she had felt in a while. The brief free fall and the mad rush down the soft slide forced her to breathe, forced her to respond physically so as not to tumble in a heap. The rush of external stimulation gave her mind a respite from the internal struggle she had dealt with for nearly twenty-four hours.

Thankfully, the folks manning the bottom of the slide had seen her descend, and made sure she landed safely. She thanked them, careful not to let anyone else handle the bags. The passengers were being separated into groups for quarantine. The Navy was definitely in control of the situation, and that made her think of Sam. Looking out of the see-through plastic "window" of the tent Kensi saw a large, bald, black man approaching. He made her think of Sam, too.

"Kensi!" he shouted. It _was_ Sam! She dropped her bags and put her hands up to the window. He put his hands against hers from the outside. "Thank God," he said. He inserted his earwig, and Kensi did as well so that they didn't have to shout to communicate. "We've got you now, Kensi. We've got you," he soothed, both of them feeling a rush of emotion that they pushed aside as Callen and Granger joined them. She looked up, greeting them. Seeing all three of them reminded her that there was an op to prepare for.

"How are you?" asked Granger, nodding to her stomach. "Should you be sitting down?"

"I'm pregnant, not disabled," she quipped. "But, uh, thanks for the concern," she added in a softer tone. "Thank you all for coming. What's the plan?"

Granger began, "We are still tracking Deeks's overwatch signature. Eric tells us it stopped about 45 km east of here. The building isn't showing up as a medical or military facility, but we will follow the signal."

Callen took over. "The doctors should arrive any minute, and we'll consult with them briefly before they head out with us."

"Or, you could go now and get him back sooner, while he…" she couldn't trust her voice.

Sam began, "Kensi, we don't know what we'll find when we get there. We aren't sure Deeks will be able to travel. We want the doctors along so we can be prepared for any scenario. They may have to treat him there."

"But Hetty said you guys have to go in dark, right? That means you won't have a lot of backup to secure a building or get him out if he...if he…needs help. How will you pull it off with so few people?"

Granger grinned. "Turns out that an unexpected leave was given to a tactical team at the naval base. They heard about what Deeks did to draw fire away from the plane full of people, and they decided to spend their leave with us. Unofficially, of course."

"We are waiting for some ground vehicles to arrive. We'll come back here to the rescue chopper for transport to the base once the quarantine period is over," Sam finished.

"But, will the Ukrainian forces just let us hang out here?" Kensi worried.

Callen explained, "Their armed forces are officially denying any involvement—meaning theirs was a dark op as well. Even if everyone from the plane is evacuated, you will still have a hijacked passenger jet parked here with the world watching. As long as we can get back to this airstrip, then leaving from here won't be a problem."

Two sailors approached their group, saluting Sam as they got closer. Behind them were Dr. Asana and Dr. Stevens. Kensi was actually glad to see them both. Despite her distrust of Dr. Stevens, she knew that the doctor didn't have to be here. In fact, she risked exposure to the CIA after NCIS had worked to protect her. Kensi knew deep down that Dr. Stevens was Marty's best bet. _If_ they were able to extract him, and _if_ the antidote worked, and _if_ he wasn't already dead, then—Kensi felt a sudden rush of dizziness and nausea.

She sat down right where she was, causing a flurry of excitement among her comrades. Two medics in full HAZMAT gear came rushing to attend to her, taking her blood pressure and pulse, and sharing the stats with Dr. Asana. After a brief conversation, they offered Kensi a cool cloth, a bottle of, and ginger ale some crackers. Outside the tent, Dr. Asana assured the team that nausea was not unusual in the first trimester. She kept her concern over the unimaginable stress Kensi must be under to herself for now, but they were no dummies.

While Kensi was supposed to be resting, she and the team talked via their tablets. She asked Dr. Stevens about the chances of a lingering virus infecting Marty even after the exchange transfusion through the comms.

"Remember that this serum was at least a year from being used when it was stolen. A lot of the procedures used on your husband and my present theory are mainly guesswork. I know that's not what you want to hear, and I promise the guesswork is based on sound medicine, but we are learning as we go. I was always worried that some of the larger particles from the serum could lodge in certain organs, essentially damming up the blood flow, but I was most worried about the liver and kidneys, not the spleen. I've been reading about a genetic disorder that, in some patients, forms such a barricade in the spleen with protein bonds, called AAT deficiency."

Sam, Callen, and Granger, who had inched back despite being shooed away, stood listening. Sam said thoughtfully, "AAT deficiency? Doesn't that just affect the lungs?"

Dr. Stevens tried to hide her surprise at Sam's knowledge, knowing that the members of this team were very well-rounded. "The protein bonds are formed in the liver and often travel to the lungs and get stuck there due to their shape. In rare cases, the bonds have lodged in the spleen as well, causing it to enlarge. That's what alerted me to the possibility when I heard about Marty's issues. If even a small amount of the toxins were held there behind the larger magnetic particles, it could endanger him.

These particles could have been caught there since before the original transfusion, but it took a long time for the blood flow to back up enough to cause his spleen to enlarge. When Dr. Asana told me that Marty's chest had become sensitive to pressure, I thought this might be the cause."

Sam, lost in thought, concluded "So in that case his spleen should be removed. The antidote alone won't be enough."

"Well, the antidote may be enough for the time being, and is very necessary. But yes, his spleen should be removed to avoid any further problems." She turned to Kensi, "The good news is, I have never stopped working on an antidote myself. I believe it to be effective even in the later stages. It needs to be administered more than once, and in conjunction with other procedures." This was the first spark of hope Kensi had been offered, and she tried not to let it ignite an unreasonable expectation in her heart.

Their attention was riveted toward the convoy of ground vehicles approaching the runway. "All right," said Granger, clapping his hands together loudly. "Let's go get our man."

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He would die alone. Dr. Thompson had no remorse for the man lying in the bed, only for his failed experiment and the repercussions that it would have on his own life. How dare this man's immune system refuse his perfect potion? He should either be dead or be better, but he was neither. The man must have some flaw.

The pilot, however, did feel bad, surprising himself. He had expected to strong-arm the agents and possibly subdue some of the passengers. Shedding blood was regrettable but probably necessary, and he had anticipated that it would take at least one round from the grenade launcher to bring about compliance. What he had not expected was cooperation so quickly. This Deeks was almost…honorable. He had to suppress these feelings and get on with clearing the floor.

The plan had been genius. The only building in the city with a helipad was the fancy hotel that most tourists didn't expect to find here. Access to military or medical facilities would not be possible, because in the event of American retaliation they needed to be able to deny involvement. Instead, the "rogue" faction perpetrating the abduction of the boastful American doctor and patient rented the penthouse of the hotel. The whole top floor with access to the helipad was theirs for as long as they needed while they transformed it into a makeshift lab and treatment area. Slipping the staff extra hryvnia to keep housekeeping at bay seemed like a win-win for the hotel crew. They knew better than to ask questions.

All for nothing. No response. The pilot wanted to shoot him. That would be more humane than leaving him alone to drown in his own blood. However, his orders were to do just that. When the hotel staff had gone without their supplementary funds for a few days, they would come up to investigate. They would find him, and there would be no way to trace his presence back to them. An American who died because of American interference. More fitting for that than for the countless Ukrainians who had succumbed to the virus. He tried to convince himself that this Deeks deserved his fate.

He knew with certainty that the doctor deserved his. One shot to the back of his head, then another for good measure. A grave had already been dug in the pauper's cemetery three towns over. Good riddance to the man who opened Pandora's box but couldn't close it. The CIA could not admit he was working there, or that he was missing. Talk about your win-win.

When it was all said and done, was dying in a soft bed in a penthouse suite so bad after all? No reason for remorse, he thought, as he removed the oxygen mask, closed the door, and was finally free from the rattling breath sounds for good.

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 _ **The suffering is almost over—so sorry to drag it out! I am going on vacation with no internet next week, so it will be around 10 days before the next chapter.**_


	6. Chapter 6--The milk has not expired

The vehicles parked intermittently around the block surrounding the hotel. Somehow Callen had a hunch they had taken Deeks to the penthouse. He knew the group would need space and privacy, so he, Sam, and Granger started there.

They didn't want to go in like gangbusters and draw out police, endangering civilians in a potential shootout, so they posed as hotel reviewers for an American website, and bribed the manager to show them the penthouse. She wanted to go in first to see if the current guests were in, and make sure it was presentable, but they couldn't allow that. She didn't seem to be interested in more money, but Sam noticed the woman looking at his expensive Breitling Superocean chronograph that Michelle had given him for Christmas. Knowing his wife would understand, he slipped it off his wrist with a smile that only Callen could tell was forced.

In the hallway, Granger had to make Sam and Callen stop long enough to put on their safety apparel before entering. The place had been transformed into a small medical clinic, with a hospital bed in the opulent sunken living room. The furniture had been moved against the walls.

"Oh, God, Deeks," mumbled Sam. The strangled breathing that he heard both sickened and encouraged him, and he dashed for the bed. "They just left him here to die alone," Sam said incredulously.

"But he's not dead," said Callen firmly, having to consciously stop himself from adding "yet" to the end of his sentence. He replaced the oxygen mask on Deeks' face and radioed for the doctors to be escorted in. He shook his head as he took in Deeks' ghastly appearance. His cheeks were sunken in, and he had impossibly dark circles under his eyes. A sheen of perspiration coated his face.

There was a pause between every breath that unnerved Sam. He didn't know which was worse: the stillness between breaths that carried the threat of finality, or the torturous sound of the labored inhale/exhale that finally ended the silence.

Members of the tactical team carried in equipment and supplies that the doctors had insisted on bringing with them. Both physicians flew into action, working in tandem tirelessly for the next few hours, setting up an IV and giving him multiple injections every hour. The hardest part for Sam and Callen was when they had to suction the blood from his lungs. It was horrifying but necessary.

When he could re-enter the room without his stomach lurching, Callen approached the bed. Sam walked up from the other side, each unsettled with the helplessness he felt. It was difficult for two men who were used to being in charge and very effective. Sam shook his head.

"You all right?" Callen asked him.

"Are you?" He paused and sat down. "I just can't believe that after all he's been through…" he left the sentence dangling because sometimes there truly are no words. "Two things I always knew about Marty Deeks: His heart belonged to Kensi Blye from the first minute he laid eyes on her, and…"

"And he could get on your nerves without even trying?" smiled Callen.

Sam released the breath he had been holding. "OK, make that three things. Nah, man, I mean, I always knew, the way he related to kids, that he'd make a great dad. Probably a little too new-age permissive self-help mumbo jumbo for my taste, but he had a way with kids, and I knew his kid would feel so…important to him. He would make up for the crappy childhood he had by being a great dad. Hell, he acted like a kid most of the time anyway…" Neither man could look at the other until their emotions were under control.

"Hey, here we are acting like he's already gone, talking about him in past tense. He's not. I'd say there's still hope."

"Yeah, well why haven't you sent word back that he's not dead, G? Do you have that much hope?"

In a move that defied the desperation he felt, Callen pulled out his phone and texted a cryptic message to a burner phone back in L.A. that was sitting on Hetty's desk. "молоко не минув. " _"The milk has not expired."_

Hetty covered her face with her hands for a full minute. Then she opened her computer, appearing on the screen in front of a very anxious pair of techs upstairs. She relayed the message and was not surprised to see Eric and Nell embrace upon hearing the news. "Please pass the message along."

"With pleasure!" agreed Eric.

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The officer approached the cot noisily, not wanting to have to touch the sleeping woman to wake her. That would be inappropriate. Instead, he coughed. When that didn't work, he said, "Ma'am," loudly enough that she jerked and sat up, disoriented.

"I apologize for waking you, but I have a message." Kensi couldn't read him behind the surgical mask. Was it good news or bad? Was she ready? It was probably best to receive the news in her current state. She could just lie back down and no one would know she was coming apart. Maybe. Maybe they would think she just went back to sleep. Maybe she would. Maybe she would never wake up.

She finally met his gaze. He handed her a slip of paper, then turned on his heel to walk away. Kensi thought it looked like one of those slips of paper from a fortune cookie. She loved fortune cookies. Maybe after this she could never eat one again. Her hands shook so badly it was hard to read the words.

Once she read it, she had no idea what to do. How do you react when you've never been this relieved or this worried before? When you have confirmation that the thing you feared the most has not happened, but you are fully aware it may still happen? Do you lie back down? Go back to sleep?

No. She had to get up, she had to move around and warm up her body the way the message had warmed up her mind and heart. Energy surged through her as she got up, realizing she had slept for hours.

She began to run around the inside perimeter of the quarantine area, even though she had no shoes on. She couldn't feel her feet anyway. She wanted to exert herself, to force herself to breathe deeply. Running on a _run_ way—Deeks would love that! She wanted to run all the way to where he was. She wanted to see him and smell him and touch him and kiss him and taste him and fit her head under his chin and apologize for being angry with him. He would say what he always said when she apologized, _"I cannot fully forgive you until we've had make up sex!"_ She laughed out loud.

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"Status?" Granger asked the two doctors, unable to sound compassionate when he was in op mode.

Dr. Stevens was listening to Marty's lungs and held up her hand like a batter who is not quite ready for the next pitch. "I need to suction his airway once more, and then we need to be ready to go right away. That way, we'll have time to get to the base before it needs to be done again."

Callen reminded her, "We aren't going straight to the base. We have to drive back to the airstrip, then take a helicopter to the base."

"How are we going to get him down the elevator and through the lobby without too much fanfare, G?" asked Sam. "It's bound to attract a lot of attention. We need can't expose anyone else to him. We could wait until the middle of the night, go out the service entrance."

"No, no—we need to get the helicopter to land on the roof, take him up the private elevator, and fly him straight to the base in Greece—forget the airstrip," said Dr. Stevens with authority. "I was right in counting on Thompson's arrogance. He thought one dose alone should cure him, without any other measures necessary. That's why I brought the suctioning equipment and the serum that _I_ continued to work on with me. The damage to his lungs has slowed significantly, so I think it is working."

"Then why do we need the chopper?" asked Granger. "It may attract more unwanted attention."

"Well," took over Dr. Asana. His illness was the most pressing problem, but not the only one. Remember the problem with his spleen? See this swelling in his torso?" she asked, lowering the sheet. The men nodded slowly, concern showing in their expressions. "His spleen may rupture on a long, bumpy ride, and that would flood his bloodstream with whatever toxins are held there from the original biochemical."

"So, if the encapsulation wasn't permanent, there could be other things released into his system?" Callen questioned.

"Right. Plus, he could bleed internally. So we need to transport him as quickly as possible with minimal jostling. We need a full surgical team and facility, plus blood in case a transfusion is needed. I'd like to wait until his temperature comes down if we can."

"I'll make the call," Granger said helpfully.

"Tell his wife she can come along," said Dr. Stevens to everyone's surprise. "You fellows can ride back with the rest of the tactical team and catch a second helicopter from the airstrip to the base. Then you can all do your kumbaya thing."

"No way," said Callen. "We are not exposing Kensi to this. That's crazy!"

"Look," said Dr. Stevens, "when we were first asked to engineer the biochemical, the purpose was to control one person—the person it was injected into—not to start an epidemic. Thompson was supposed to create something that was horrible but progressed slowly enough so that information could be extracted from the agent. Someone would have to be close in order to question him without getting sick themselves. We were instructed to always refer to them as viruses, because the perceived threat was greater. However, the original assignment was to use poisons, not viruses.

"Then why all of the quarantine time when Deeks was first injected? Why has this been treated as a virus the whole time? You always knew this wasn't contagious? What about the transfusion?" asked Callen angrily.

"Thompson is such a diabolical bastard that I was never sure he followed orders on that, and I kept going back to the lab after hours to check and recheck the serum. I knew at least one of the stolen vials contained only the poisons and no viruses, but I had not been able to check the other one. When Deeks was injected, I didn't know if it was the poison or the virus, because I knew the symptoms were identical. It was necessary to use the precautions for a contagious virus just in case, and an exchange transfusion is a legitimate treatment for poisoning.

"I have never stopped working on an antidote for both the poison and the virus, even in witness protection. When I heard about the spread of the California flu, I knew the CIA had allowed Thompson to continue his work. He must have sold everyone on the notion that the actual virus was included in the original biochemical, and he has been stalling for time in bringing up Deeks as patient zero. Either that, or he doesn't know himself that it was the poison."

"We still can't take that chance with Kensi," insisted Callen. "Not with her being pregnant."

"Look," Dr. Asana reasoned, "Kensi has had more exposure than anyone. If this were a virus, it would be contagious before symptoms occur—that's how viruses spread so quickly. People don't know they're coming down with it until they've already exposed several others. Now that we see he is making progress, being with him is better for her stress level. I don't think her episode of dizziness was just morning sickness. Her blood pressure was through the roof."

Dr. Stevens finished, "We'll still take precautions, but he is responding to the poison antidote that I brought with me, and not the antiviral that Thompson injected."

Sam looked at Callen, who shrugged slightly, then nodded. "But she still wears the suit," he insisted. Both doctors nodded.

Sam turned to Granger, who stepped back into the other room, radioing the orders to the team at the airstrip. He walked back into the room and told them, "The team leader said he would have to go and catch Kensi to get her on the chopper." The others all turned toward him with a questioning look. "He said she has been running around the inside perimeter of the quarantine pavilion since she got the message that he was alive. Barefooted. No one can get her to stop."

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"I'm fine, I'm fine, Sir," she breathed. This would make the fourth person who had come to check on her. _They must think I'm crazy,_ she thought. This guy was more persistent than the others, though, and actually moved to stand in front of her. "Hey, what the..." Kensi muttered as she had to stop short so she wouldn't run into him.

"Sorry, ma'am, but they want you to change clothes and go to the chopper," he said. Now that she had stopped running, Kensi could recognize a helicopter engine warming up. "It's umm, something to do with your husband."

He barely got the last word out before Kensi sprinted to the decontamination tunnel where a change of clothes was waiting for her. Her blood was like ice water in her veins. Maybe that was why her heart seemed to be working in double time to force it through her body. Was she to come along because he was better, or …?

On the trip there, Kensi was able to speak to the pilot through the headset and discovered that a mission had been called to fly in to pick up Deeks, then transport him directly to the base, foregoing the overland part of the planned route. _You aren't in a hurry to fly out a corpse_ , Kensi thought, and took hope in that.

Sam was waiting on the rooftop with the key to the elevator. Kensi ran up to him expectantly, searching his face for any hint of solace or despair. She found both.

"Kensi, he's alive, OK?" She hurried passed him to get to the elevator, only to find she couldn't get on without his key. He turned her to face him. "Listen for a minute. The antidote has slowed down the damage to his lungs, but he isn't out of it yet. His fever is still high and he's in a coma." Kensi nodded and made for the door, only to have Sam stop her again.

"What the hell, Sam?! I need to see him!" She grabbed for the elevator key.

"Stand down, and that's an order!" he barked, getting her attention. "Let me finish," he said more kindly. "The doctors are rushing him to the base because he needs his spleen removed. It's in danger of rupturing, and it may release other toxins into his bloodstream if it does, so no touching his torso. That's why we aren't loading him on one of the vehicles as planned. The ride is too rough. Be easy," he finished as he finally opened the elevator.

Upon entering the penthouse, Kensi was greeted with the ghastly spectacle of blood being suctioned from her husband's lungs. The sight and sound of the procedure would have been too much for her if Callen hadn't walked up and held her shoulders, shielding her from the view. "They're almost done, Kensi. It will help him breathe better, and it really is a lot better this time than the others."

"They've done this to him before?" He nodded almost apologetically, helping her put on a mask, gloves, and coverall to remain cautious. When it was over and the blood had been wiped from his face, Dr. Asana put an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, then motioned Kensi over. Kensi walked over and immediately touched his face and grabbed his limp hand. She clung to the belief that Sam wouldn't lie to her about his improvement, because the term "death rattle" came to her when she heard him breathe. She spoke to him through the mask, saying things she had been afraid she would never get to say to him.

Dr. Stevens could tell immediately that his body relaxed. She may have imagined it, but she was pretty sure she saw his eyes crinkle ever so slightly.

It almost went off without a hitch. As they made it to the elevator, the power went out in the building. Taking Deeks up the stairs was not an option. Granger radioed to the tactical team stationed in their vehicles nearby, telling them to check it out. They responded, but their transmission was interrupted by an unexpected source. Members of the Ukrainian dark ops group had intercepted the frequency. They had been surprised that instead of a body being removed, more Americans had entered the penthouse. Judging from the watch the hotel manager reported getting as a bribe, these people had resources and were highly motivated.

They knew if Deeks was still alive, there must have been success with the antidote, and they wanted either the cure or the doctor.

They were prepared to blow up the hotel, killing the civilians inside as well as the team. They would spin it as a hostage situation perpetrated by an American dark ops group, and using deadly force was their only option.

The same grenade launchers used at the airstrip were circling just outside the perimeter the tactical team had set up, still well within range. The citizens on the street had become oblivious to such things and paid them no attention.

Nothing sheds light on a dark op like dead civilians.

Despair would have been written on all of their faces if any of them could see. Standing in the dark hall with the gurney, poised to push it into the elevator, the feeling was tangible, however.

Dr. Stevens moved quickly, grabbing the radio off of Granger's hip and striding to the door for the emergency exit that led to the stairs. She knew the only thing they wanted more than Deeks was herself and the serum she carried in her bag. Granger, Callen, and Sam could block her way and spend time that Deeks may not have coming up with another compromise, or they could let Stevens get to the lobby to meet with the Ukrainian agent, and hopefully get the power restored so they could get Deeks up the elevator. No one moved.

Carol Stevens felt bitterness over what the Chinese did to her husband many years ago, and spent years going against her own sense of ethics to get back at them. Now she decided to let go of her acrimony and help those she had never intended to hurt. As she walked into the lobby, she was never more certain that she was doing the right thing.

In the penthouse hallway, an audible gasp escaped Kensi's lips when the lights came on and the elevator hummed to life once more. The group quickly escorted Deeks to the helicopter, collectively holding their breaths until it was able to take off and clear the area.

From inside a black Mercedes that was waiting near the hotel entrance, Dr. Carol Stevens heard the helicopter lift off as well. For the first time in years, she felt totally at peace with her actions.


	7. Chapter 7--A Yeti by any other name

_Packed in ice like a mackerel_. This was the first semi-conscious thought Marty Deeks had had in 3 days. The ice was actually packed around him on a sheet of plastic, contacting various pressure points as well as his torso. _I must be alive_. _I know hell is not cold, and this isn't like any version of heaven I've heard of. Oh, wait-maybe I'm a six-pack on ice. Could be heaven after all._

Noticing his eyes were moving beneath his closed lids, the staff physician, Dr. Simmons, paged Dr. Asana from the barracks where she had finally relented to get some rest. When the group had arrived, Simmons realized he had his hands full with a comatose poison victim in need of emergency surgery, an exhausted yet hypervigilant physician, and an understandably frazzled wife whom he understood was not only an NCIS agent herself, but pregnant.

Neither woman could be convinced to relinquish control until the other team members arrived and contacted their operations manager, who obviously conveyed her trust in Simmons. He might have felt honored if he weren't so annoyed.

He had convinced them that it was in the patient's best interest to lower his temperature before attempting surgery. The use of ice would also help decrease the blood flow through his enlarged spleen. Using this method bought them a little time so that the dialysis equipment could be put in place to filter any blood from the contaminated spleen before it entered the bloodstream.

It was easier to persuade the three male team members to rest, although not by much. Their exhaustion became more evident when the adrenaline from the mission they were on wore off. Simmons knew some sailors left to take part in a top-secret extraction-one he assumed was for a captured military personnel.

The guy he was treating couldn't be military by the looks of him, yet NCIS was calling the shots. Could this be the hero from the hijacked plane? Maybe so, based on the level of importance given to him. How did poisoning figure into the incident? Being military, Simmons could accept that he may never know the answers to all of his questions. He just needed to know enough to treat the guy.

When Dr. Asana arrived, she was flanked by the patient's gorgeous brunette wife and the scruffiest of the three men—well, of the conscious ones. Simmons had already discovered this man slept very little. He'd wandered into the patient's room every couple hours throughout the night, sometimes questioning the doctor, sometimes talking in a low voice to the comatose man.

Dr. Asana came to consult with Simmons while Kensi and Callen approached the bed. Kensi sat down, noticing the rapid eye movement. She reached for Marty's hand, which was now much cooler than it had been a few hours ago, and tried to urge him into consciousness. "Hey, Baby, it's me. I know you're trying to wake up, Deeks. You can do it. You're alive, Baby, _alive!_ You did it, too. You saved a whole plane full of passengers. I'm so proud of you." She looked over her shoulder at Callen standing behind her, and motioned him closer. "This might take two of us," she sniffled. Callen sat on the edge of Kensi's chair to get closer.

"Deeks, just wake up, ok? Kensi needs to see you, Buddy. Hey," he added, looking at the ice, "I just thought of a new nickname for you. Yeti!" He and Kensi chuckled.

"Notttt funnnnny," they heard from his chattering lips. Kensi thrilled at the sound of his voice, and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "TTTToo ddddark," he complained.

Kensi wasn't aware she was crying until her warm tears splashed onto her hand. "That's because your eyes are still closed, Genius. Can you open them?" She rubbed his cheek as his eyelids fluttered.

"Oh, hi!" he breathed.

Callen squeezed Kensi's shoulder in relief. "Hi, Yeti! Good to see you. I'll leave you two to talk," smiled Callen, joining the two doctors.

"I had a dreammmm," Deeks chattered haltingly. "You had a baby in your…" He looked her over, perplexed. "Your belly was big. Is that…do you…are we, I mean was that, is that real?" Between the tremors wracking him, his still irregular breathing, and the confusion from waking after several days, Deeks was having trouble understanding and making himself understood. Good thing Kensi knew him so well.

"That's real, Marty. I _am_ pregnant. You're going to be a dad!" she whispered, wearing the biggest smile imaginable. "My belly's not big yet, but you just wait!"

He smiled happily and feebly squeezed her hand. "I didn't miss it," he said softly before laying his head back on the pillow. He began to shake uncontrollably.

Callen noticed the change from across the room, and interrupted the doctors. "Hey, his lips are turning blue. Is that normal?" His tremors became so violent that it was impossible for Kensi to hold his hand any longer.

The two doctors rushed over to Deeks as Kensi stepped back to give them room. "His oxygen saturation is low. His breathing is labored from pressure on his diaphragm," Dr. Asana reported, leaning over with her stethoscope.

Dr. Simmons checked the readouts. "We need to operate now. I'll assemble the surgical team so we can get him anesthetized and intubate him. That will help. The operating room is already set up," he left quickly.

Sam and Granger noticed the doctor leaving Deeks' room in a hurry as they were coming down the hall. "How is he this morning?" asked Sam.

They did a one-eighty to walk alongside the doctor, who showed no signs of slowing his pace. "Temp is down, but so are his oxygen sats. We need to go ahead with the surgery."

"Is he strong enough?" asked Sam.

"No choice," came the curt reply. "Barring any complications, a splenectomy is a simple enough surgery."

The doctor went through the doors to the operating room, leaving Granger and Sam standing in the hall. "Yeah, but this is Deeks," Sam sighed. He and Granger entered the room. Dr. Asana had placed a nasal cannula on him, and she and a nurse were lifting the ice-laden plastic sheet off of him. His violent tremors continued, but Sam was encouraged when he noticed that Deeks had opened his eyes.

Callen walked up to fill them in. "He woke up a few minutes ago, but then the tremors started. He knew who we were," he said, answering the question before Sam could ask it. Kensi motioned for Sam to come closer. She had given up trying to hold Marty's hand, but she softly gripped his upper arm where the movement was not as pronounced because she just had to touch him.

Sam of course noticed the blue tint of his lips, but he thought he also saw a grimace of pain as Deeks attempted to smile at him. "Hey, Kens, can I have just a minute with him?" asked Sam, moving between her and Marty with his massive frame. Leaning closely to him, Sam asked, "What is it, Shaggy? Are you in pain?" Deeks nodded, closing his eyes. "Is it here?" Sam asked, touching Deeks' left shoulder. Once again, he nodded. Trained as a medic, Sam recognized this sign of a ruptured spleen, although he hoped against hope that he was wrong. As he made a move to talk to the doctor, an alarm sounded on the readout of Deeks' vital signs.

"His blood pressure is bottoming out," Dr. Asana said as Deeks' eyes rolled back and his body went limp.

Sam stepped close to her and said quietly, "He just told me he was in pain here," and he touched his own shoulder to demonstrate.

"Damn," she breathed as a host of orderlies along with Dr. Simmons burst into the room. "Let's get him to surgery, STAT. I'm afraid his spleen ruptured."

Kensi stood back against the wall out of the way. Her hands flew to her mouth. "Oh no, oh no, oh no," she repeated in a whisper as a host of medical personnel wheeled Marty's bed from the room and Granger took her arm to lead her away.

The lack of a waiting room was a problem, but family members weren't usually present at the base during procedures. In lieu of a traditional waiting area, the group alternated between the small lobby of the sick bay and the mess hall when they needed coffee. The procedure was supposed to be relatively short, only two hours. Of course, if there had been a rupture, then it would be longer.

Was that why the first two hours flew by, but the minutes past that benchmark seemed to belong to some warped, slow dimension? Kensi felt like there was a bushel of jumping beans inside of her skin, and she was waging an internal war within herself not to move. Her brain told her to be perfectly still. She didn't want anyone talking to her, placating her, trying to make her smile. She felt like if she didn't fill her mind and body with Deeks, that he could still slip away, and it would be her fault.

Callen could accept this more easily than Sam, who wanted to reason with her and go over Marty's chances, and mention the other incidents he had bounced back from. Finally, Kensi walked quickly out of the lobby to the room her husband had been in before he was wheeled into surgery, and Callen made sure Sam didn't follow.

"G, I don't think she should be alone right now," Sam said insistently.

"Sam, maybe you wouldn't want to be alone in a crisis, but Kensi's not you, ok? You can't _force_ your brand of comfort on someone. You have to let them seek it out in their way. If Kensi needs us, she'll come and find us. Meanwhile, I'll hold your hand, big guy."

"Don't touch me!" Sam retorted, not totally convinced that Kensi wasn't killing herself with worry.

Another hour dragged by. It crawled. It creeped. It defied logic.

Even watched pots boil eventually, and at long last Dr. Asana walked down the corridor toward the lobby. As she passed the door to Marty's previous room, she noticed a dark head bobbing as Kensi rocked herself back and forth in the unyielding straight chair. Neither woman had slept more than a few hours in as many days, and collapse was near. Dr. Asana was glad that Dr. Simmons could take point in the operation, although she watched him like a hawk.

Just then, Sam ventured into the hall to look in on Kensi while Callen dozed in the lobby, and he saw the doctor. He snapped his fingers behind him wordlessly, causing Callen to jump in his chair and get up to follow.

Kensi allowed herself to move for the first time since she'd gone in that room other than the rocking she hadn't been able to stop. Now she stood like a statue, having no idea what sort of posture she needed to assume for the news. The doctor was obviously weary, and closed her eyes for the briefest second before shaking her head and allowing the first smile that had adorned her face in days work its magic. "I don't know how he does it, but he has come through this just like he has everything else," she marveled.

Sam and Callen slapped each other's back before Kensi hooked one arm around each of their necks. She cried tears of relief and motioned for the doctor to join their circle.

After a few minutes, Sam asked, "So, did his spleen rupture? Were you able to control the contaminated blood?"

Dr. Simmons entered the doorway just then, and seeing a nod from Dr. Asana, he took over. "His spleen was enlarged to three times its normal size, causing pain and pressure. Somehow it held, though, and didn't rupture. We were able to remove it safely, but as soon as it was detached, it sprang leaks in four places! Is this guy charmed or what?"

"Well, he's charm _ing_ ," teased Kensi.

"Oh, no you don't!" chided Callen. "Don't start making corny jokes in his place!"

"Maybe I miss the corn," she said softly.

"Anyway," continued Simmons, "the open procedure we performed involves a long recovery time. There's normally a 3-5 day stay, but in his condition, I'm saying 10-14 days."

"Dr. Asana, what about the poison?" asked Kensi. "Are we finally finished with that and the threat of more?"

Sam and Callen turned eagerly to hear this news. "We decided not to do another exchange transfusion because of his delayed reaction to it the first time, but we have him on dialysis now, and will continue each day for a week. That should protect his liver and kidneys from any damaging particles in his bloodstream. I have Dr. Stevens' antidote, but I'll wait and see what his condition is before administering more. His lungs sound much better," she said encouragingly.

"Where is the older guy that was with you before?" asked Simmons. "Still sleeping?"

"He's tracking the whereabouts of one person on our team who didn't make it out," Callen answered.

"Oh, so sorry," said the doctor. "Is he a close friend of yours?"

"Yes, _she_ is," answered Kensi. "She is responsible for saving my husband's life." Kensi turned to Callen, "I didn't realize the recon had started. What kind of intel do we have?"

"Sam's watch," he stated.

"Sorry, what's that?" asked Kensi.

"Sam used his uber expensive watch as part of the bribe to get us in the penthouse. The hotel manager showed it to the operative she reported to, and he was so impressed that he's still wearing it. It has a gps tracker on it, and I, umm" he glanced away from Sam to finish his explanation, "I called Michelle and had her give the gps activation code and tracking site to Eric and Nell."

"You what? You told her, G? I was thinking I'd get one to replace it and she'd never know the difference. Man, I oughtta…"

"Easy, partner, she took it well. I made you out to be an unselfish hero, doing whatever it took to save Deeks' life," Callen reasoned.

"Speaking of him, can I go and see him now?" asked Kensi, already halfway out the door.

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Granger and the tactical team were planning the extraction of Dr. Stevens when they received a message using the walkie-talkie she had lifted from Granger's belt. She didn't want to be rescued. She couldn't go back as Dr. Carol Stevens or as the alias she used when she went into witness protection. Her antiviral had much more success than Thompson's did already, and she actually wanted to stay and work on a vaccine for this particular strain of flu now that it had been introduced to the public. Her work was meaningful and important, and she didn't miss her large salary or the pressure of a government job, or the stress of looking over her shoulder.

Granger might have been suspicious that she was coerced into these statements, but something told him it was legit. Maybe it was the anguish he saw in her eyes when she was suctioning Deeks' airway, wrestling with the fact that she created something that could produce such a horrifying condition in an innocent man. She wanted redemption.

He had felt that desperation himself on a few ops, and the callous attitude he had to present was an act. Sometimes, when he was alone, he thought he deserved an Academy Award. For him it was always a numbers game. How many bad guys met one form of justice or another versus the number of good guys who were hurt or killed. Over the years, he knew which side was greater, but individual ops could skew the numbers at times and test his thespian skills.

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It was a long 14 days. Kensi kept telling him that the ten-day minimum stay would only be possible if he followed doctors' orders. Completely. Including no sex. But he couldn't, and she couldn't, so they did. Explaining the pulled stitches to the doctor was a little embarrassing, but it was easier the second time.

When at last he was ready to leave the facility, he was forced into the mandatory exit by wheelchair. Kensi was pushing him out toward their air transport, Sam and Callen having gone back to L.A. two weeks ago. When the doors to the infirmary opened, both Kensi and Deeks stopped their banter and marveled at what they saw.

Every sailor from the base was lined up, flanking both sides of the walkway for at least one hundred feet. When the infirmary doors opened, they all saluted. There was no way that Deeks was going to sit in a chair and be pushed down the walkway. He stood erect, wanting to look each sailor in the eye and somehow communicate that they were the ones worthy of a hero's sendoff—not him.

Standing at the end of the left sideline was Sam, and the rest of the team-Hetty, Callen, Nell, Eric, and Granger were in the center aisle, having come to escort them home. Some would have thought it ridiculous for those 6 to fly to Greece only to turn around and fly back, but what else were they going to do with the added vacation days Hetty gave them? You do things like that for family.

Both Kensi and Deeks were overwhelmed—Kensi with pride and gratitude, and Deeks with humility. The base commander came out to thank Deeks for his service, citing the rescue of 216 passengers and crew aboard the jet. Deeks found it easier to nod and smile than to try and speak. It would be so embarrassing if he squeaked like a girl in front of all these sailors.

The trip back to L.A. was accomplished in a private jet Hetty had procured that somehow matched her Cobra sports car in power and comfort. Everyone was happy to be together again. Hetty made sure that a great meal was served, taking it upon herself to begin what she saw as Marty's first step on the road to full recovery—fattening him up.


	8. Chapter 8--Bellyrubs and baby names

Warning! Intense, two-tissue happiness to follow.

"Clockwise or counterclockwise? Which direction did I rub yesterday?" Marty was lying on the bed beside Kensi, whose belly at 37 weeks was every bit as glorious as he imagined it would be.

Kensi's shirt was pulled up to her bra line, while the waistband of her pants was under her stomach—a look she called the "fifty year old man who still wears the same size pants as he did in his twenties because he wears them under his belly." She did not enjoy the kinship she now felt with that section of the population.

"It doesn't matter to the baby or to me—just rub, Yeti." Funny, Deeks had tons of nicknames for Kensi, all of which he used often. It was natural, and they fit various situations that both Kensi and Deeks could identify. However, although Kensi had called Marty lots of names since the beginning of their partnership, most were one-hit wonders

Yeti stuck. It wasn't even her name for him-it was Callen's. It wasn't overtly sexy, like some of the names she had called him during foreplay. But it did underscore the primal yearning she felt whenever he was near, and how he could make her howl like a wild thing, especially when his scruffy beard rubbed her just so. Most importantly, the name reminded her of the moment he opened his eyes and she knew the world had not stopped turning.

"Well, I'll do 18 clockwise rubs, and 19 counterclockwise, so she won't get dizzy."

"In that case, use lots of lotion, or else I won't have any skin left!" She closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of his hands on her. When he stopped and began rubbing in the opposite direction, the baby followed him, causing an obvious, bottom-shaped lump leaning left. "Look, she's following your hands! She likes it! She knows her daddy's touch!" Marty laughed and predictably teared up at the thought that his 'precious pink pumpkin' was enjoying her massage.

"Yetis don't cry," Kensi whispered. She reached up and laid her palm against his cheek knowing he would turn his face and kiss it. They knew each other's moves, all right. They had studied each other for years before giving in to the passion they both tried to ignore for the sake of the job or national security or whatever else.

And yet, there were still moments of surprise. Moments when one discovered the other had paid attention to some minute detail that was made all the more important for its unimportance.

So, after the belly rub, Kensi asked Marty to reach under the bed and retrieve a gift box she had hidden there months ago, when they first came home and Marty was so weak that a walk to the mailbox resulted in a nap. Sometime during her second trimester, he had morphed from patient to caretaker. It was as if he drew strength from Kensi's growing belly.

"I would get it myself, but the floor is much too far down these days," she grinned.

"What is this, a Christmas present you just remembered you hid there?" asked Marty, looking for all the world like a kid in a candy store.

"No, Deeks, it's March. My pregnancy brain isn't that bad! It's just something…" she suddenly felt all shy and—girly.

"Come on, Kensalina, you know what it does to me when you're all coy and start twirling your hair." She stopped mid-twirl and grabbed both of his hands in hers.

"It's probably not what you're expecting, I just wanted you to have these so that I could show you how much…" she had to stop because there was a lump the size and temperature of the Sahara in her throat.

"Hey, Sugarbear, take a deep breath. It's just me, Marty. Marty who loves you this much," he stretched his hands as far as he could, still holding hers. Of course she giggled, and although the lump had subsided, her eyes were as full as her heart.

"Just open it, Yeti," she smiled. He quickly took the top off the box and his face lit up. He dumped the contents on the bed and spread them out. All six of them. Six video versions of O. Henry's "The Gift of the Magi." The first was a 1917 silent version. Then, there were a couple musicals, a Sesame Street version starring Bert and Ernie, and a Simpson's version called "The Grift of the Magi". Oh—and the last one. The piece de resistance, the homerun, the ace in the hole, the golden ticket: the 1978 version titled "The Gift of Love" starring _Marie Osmond._

"This is like an orgy of awesomeness," he breathed.

"Well, I don't think I'm up for an orgy, but how about I make us some popcorn and we can watch one tonight—say, the Marie Osmond one?" she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Isn't that like adultery?" he asked.

"Not unless you get really kinky with the disc. Besides, Deeks, she's old enough to be your mother!"

"No, she would have had to get pregnant when she was," he looked up at the ceiling and moved his lips as he worked it out, "sixteen-but she was pure!"

"You're pure—pure nerd!" she scoffed as she scuttled to the kitchen.

"I'll own it. As long as you admit you are nerd putty," he offered, following her and getting the popcorn oil to put in the pan because he knew where it was and she never did since she was never the one who put it away.

"Ew! Nerd putty? What does that even mean? That sounds gross. Don't gross out a pregnant woman!" She poured the kernels into the oil noisily, put the lid on, and waited for the popping to start.

"As in, you are putty in this nerd's hands, my sweet nesting ladybird," he smiled as he placed a kiss on her lips and their favorite popcorn bowl in her hands.

"Well, duh!" she exclaimed, smiling back at him.

When the popcorn was gone and the video was half over, Kensi laid her head in Marty's lap and he stroked her hair. "Kens?" he said quietly.

"Mmm hmm?"

"Our life together is so perfect, so effortless. I feel like I'm being rewarded for something I've never done. Like, I may get a phone call and someone will tell me that my perfect life is a big mistake—that I don't really deserve it. Maybe we should mess it up a little so it feels like I've earned it."

"You mean like have an affair with Marie Osmond?" she murmured. He didn't answer. He must be serious.

Kensi sat up and faced her husband. "My word, Deeks, have you forgotten about the biochemical? The fact that you were a medical experiment? That a bunch of twisted S.O.B.'s used a computer to stop your heart, rupture your appendix and paralyze you? That you walked _toward_ Ukrainian grenade launchers to offer yourself as a test patient and saved 216 people? How about the 3 months it took you to recuperate? Each time? I think most people would say that qualifies you for some happiness! Effortless? Maybe _you_ have pregnancy brain!"

"Oh, well it sounds like a lot of stuff when you say it all at once," he shrugged. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes. I'm not used to things that are this good lasting a long time."

"Embrace the happy, Babe, and don't look for the storm when you're standing under the rainbow. You gave hundreds of people a gift that O. Henry would be envious of. You deserve a great life—a remarkable life—a life as special as you are." She kissed him like a wild thing.

Nineteen daily belly rubs later, Kensi panted and pushed while Marty prayed and cheered and watched his daughter widen their circle of love. He knew on some intellectual level that they were not the first people to have a baby, but it felt like it. He finally got to see the face that he had not been able to hallucinate into focus. Perfection. The first and only and most gorgeous baby in the universe.

The only person who cried more than Sam was Callen. Eric and Nell went home with cheeks that were sore from smiling so much. Hetty inhaled deeply again and again, like someone taking a breathing treatment. Granger decided not to put on a callous act, and ran around the mission showing off pictures from his phone and handing out pink-banded cigars.

Deeks of course spent the night in the hospital. He had talked Kensi into a traditional birth instead of the home birth he knew she preferred (well, she liked the thought of it) since he still had some reservations because of the poisoning. Kensi had confidence the doctors were right when they told her there was no effect on the baby, but it was worth it to relax that worry line on her husband's brow.

When all of the well-meaning visitors had gone at last, he crawled into the bed with his wife and daughter. "Ok, Honey, the people from the records office will be back in the morning to get her name," he said as he encircled both of his girls in his arms. "I know you haven't wanted to talk about it until she was actually here, but you've got to have some idea. I'm kind of partial to Fern."

"That's _my_ name!" she pouted, drawing a chuckle from the new father. "I was thinking Maggie," she said.

"Maggie? Maggie… That's so cute! It's perfect—it really suits our girl." He cooed, "Hi, Maggie! Daddy's little Magpie!" Kensi had expected the nicknames to start rolling off his tongue, and she smiled as she leaned against him. He asked, "Is that a family name? Is it short for Margaret or something? I've never heard you mention anyone by that name."

"No," she said. "It's not a family name, Deeks. It's, umm, the closest thing I can think of to Magi…and I always want our daughter to know the gift that you gave to her, to me, and to everyone on that plane. That you gave yourself up to save us. That her daddy is a living hero." They sat silently for a little while, both so relieved that all of that was behind them and the future stretched before them like a road to an unknown destination. Marty could hardly believe how loved he felt, and how much love he had to give.

"Can I suggest a middle name?" he asked after a few minutes.

"You don't have to. I already know what it is, because I know you. It's Carol. Maggie Carol Deeks."

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Two weeks later, a woman half a world away woke up next to the first man she had bared her soul to since the death of her husband. He shared her sense of duty, and despite his attempts to disguise it, he had respect for those who were selfless, like the man on the plane. He was relieved and shocked, that day when he drove the dark ops commander and the doctor, that the man upstairs in the penthouse was still alive. He admired the doctor for her part in his survival, and marveled that he had encountered two such selfless people so close together.

His role had changed from pilot to driver to bodyguard for the doctor, and he ended up in a role he never imagined himself in. She was passionate, intelligent, demanding, and exactly what he needed.

She woke up to make a phone call from a device he had obtained for her through his contacts. Something untraceable. She had been watching the date approach, and then gave extra time, knowing how babies like to ruin everyone's idea of a schedule. She texted Dr. Asana, then put on a pot of coffee. Just as it finished brewing, she received the reply. It was a picture of the new family, love and contentment oozing out of their pores. Her eyes misted as she enlarged the faces to study each one.

Her breath caught, however, when she read the accompanying text: _Marty and Kensi Deeks introduce their daughter, Maggie Carol Deeks._ She ran into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed with the phone in her hand to show him. It turns out doctors, bodyguards, pilots, agents, yetis—they all cry sometimes.

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Thanks for reading!

To Caroline, Cheryl, mon ami, and mi amigo—I appreciate your enthusiasm and encouragement.


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